


Gender's a Social Construct

by pocketsebastian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Genderfluid Character, Genderfluid Sherlock, Heteronormativity, Homophobia, Kidlock, Pre A Study in Pink, Teenlock, Transphobia, Unilock, cisnormativity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 17:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1235041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsebastian/pseuds/pocketsebastian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock through the years starting from toddler days and his experience with genderfluidity. Trigger warnings for homophobia and transphobia in later chapters. Rating will likely change in future chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gender's a Social Construct

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first chapter work, and it is entirely a work in progress. I'm going to try to put a chapter out every few days. Most chapters are partially or fully sculpted out, but have yet to be typed up.

It wasn’t the first time Mrs. Holmes found her son in her and her husband’s bedroom. It was normal for a child to play dress-up with their parents clothing, though Mycroft hadn’t done it. Still, she’d perused the books and conversed with friends who had children Sherlock’s age, and they all had their own opinions. Mrs. Holmes had had a few opinions given to her. Her more cisnormative friends and family said to ‘squash it now, he’s a boy and he has to act like it’. Her more open-minded friends said to ‘let him go and do what he wanted, it’s just a bit of harmless gender expression’.

She went with letting him do what he wanted. It was what she’d done with Mycroft, it’s what she’d do with Sherlock. Provided it was in reason, of course, and he wasn’t harming anyone.

“Oh, Sherlock, what have you done now?” came the exasperated voice of his mother. The four year old looked up at the voice, beaming from where he sat in the middle of a pile of clothes. Beaming, the boy stood up, wobbling a bit in the too big pair of heels while his mother’s dress trailed behind him. Sherlock giggled once, took one wobbling step forward, and then stumbled back and fell on his bum. “Mycroft’s supposed to be watching you,” his mummy murmured, crouching down to inspect her youngest son. Makeup was smeared across his face, an obvious attempt at putting it on. Tutting, Mummy pulled the toddler up out of the dress, sighing as the naked boy giggled and clung to her.

“Pretty, Mummy,” laughed Sherlock, wrapping his pudgy arms around his mother’s neck, giggling the whole time. “’Lock’s pretty, Mummy.” Obviously he didn’t understand what trouble he’d be in. He was happy with his make-up and his clothes.

His mother gave an exhausted laugh and a shake of her head before pulling back to examine her son. A bath was definitely in order. Lipstick was smeared around his lips and cheeks, like the boy had been drawing with a crayon, and blush was mixed with liquid mascara, making a disgusting congealed mess. His fingers were covered in blush, lipstick, mascara…Anything the boy could get his hands on. His hair was a floral smelling mess as well, so he had to have gotten into her perfumes.

“Yes, yes, you’re _very_ pretty, ‘Locky,” cooed Mrs. Holmes, figuring she could lecture the boy when he was clean. Oh, she wasn’t mad that he’d gotten into her things. Well, she was. But it was more so the aspect that he’d done it without asking. Still, the boy was four and really she could explain it to him that he _needed_ to _ask_ Mummy before playing with her things, but all things considering, he was still a good boy (for the most part, she supposed). And there was the matter of scolding Mycroft for not watching Sherlock when he was supposed to.

A quick wash and change later and Sherlock was happily in a new set of clothes (pink pyjamas he’d picked out two weeks ago and were currently his favourite pyjamas, next to the set that was decorated like a pirate’s treasure map) and was on the floor in the kitchen, banging pot lids together while Mummy babbled at Mycroft about “’sponsibility anhes yor bruthrso uneedta watchim”. Or, that’s how it sounded to the four year old.


End file.
